I was surprised to see Dahyun having breakfast with my parents on that same morning. Dahyun had no makeup on, her hair was up in a ponytail, and she was dressed in my clothes. An oversized AC/DC t-shirt and some old basketball shorts. They were in the middle of a conversation when I walked in, and she seemed to be laughing at something my father said.

“Where have you been?”

“I went for a jog,” I simply answered and joined them at the kitchen table. A pot of chicken soup was bubbling, and the air was filled with the smell of grilled pork—Dahyun’s favourite. I shot her a look, only to find that she was already stuffing her face.

I ate quietly. Every now and then, Dahyun would make small talk with my parents. She knew how to hold a conversation: she had clear, clever opinions and a natural gift for letting the discussion flow. The smiles on my parents’ faces stayed permanent while talking to her. It was clear that they adored Dahyun, and that only made me wonder what kind of girl I’d bring home to them in the future.

When breakfast finished, we stayed in the kitchen tidying up, while mother and father headed outside to buy groceries. Dahyun helped me wash the dishes. Standing next to her, she wiped as I washed, and stacked everything on the worktop.

“Hey,” Dahyun said with a glance in my direction. “Aunt tells me that you’re spending Christmas back in your hometown.”

“Mom and dad’s families and friends live there. I imagine that spending Christmas and New Year over there would be better for them instead of here.”

“Is it your first time visiting ever since?”

I gave her a small nod.

“Are you nervous?”

“Of course.”

“Then take me with you.”

I scoffed. “Why?”

“I’m curious about your past.”

“Which part are you curious about?” I asked, jerking my head.

“Just,” she pondered on. “The normal things, you know? What your old friends were like, the ocean next to your house, the girls that you liked, the route home from your old school… and your brother.” I was silent for some time, then Dahyun chuckled and patted me on the back. "Never mind," she said. "Forget it.”

“You can come if you want. We have a spare room,” I told her. “Besides, my parents were always bugging me to bring you guys.”

Dahyun smiled broadly. An ever-so-slightly more sophisticated smile than usual. “Then, can I bring Tzuyu with me?”

With a faltering sigh, I told her that she can. “Will your parents be okay with this, though?”

“They won’t even budge, June,” she said, sounding almost too proudly. “They’re throwing a couple of parties. That means our house will be filled with old, wrinkly men in suits and women who stink of expensive perfume. They have to entertain all those people, so it’ll be better if I didn’t get in the way.”

“I suppose.”

“It sounds sad and horrible when I put it that way.”

I nodded. “Have you always spent your Christmas like that?”

She wrinkled her nose and thought about it for a second. “Only when my dad got promoted at work four years ago. It really isn’t that bad, though. The food’s nice and I get a lot of money.”

“I see.” And that was the end of that conversation.  

I stopped talking and washed. Dahyun stopped talking and wiped.

. . .

Through the dreams that came to visit me from time to time, I learned a few things about my brother.

First of all: my parents bought him a black Honda Fuma 125 when he turned sixteen. When I told my parents about that dream, they explained that he used to drive that motorcycle devotedly. Whether it was in the morning, evening or at night, Jinhwan rode his motorcycle town to town for hours. Secondly: he was crazy about books. If he wasn’t driving around on his motorcycle, my parents told me that it was most likely you’d find him in his room reading books instead. In fact, he liked to read so much that he didn’t mind if his grades were falling behind because of it. And this was the last thing: two weeks before he died, my brother dropped out of school, he stopped using his phone, cut off contact with all of his friends, and sold off all of his books, which led me to thinking this:

What if he already knew that he was going to die?

What if it wasn’t an accident?

I wanted to ask my parents about it. I wanted to ask them how I managed to survive but my brother didn’t.

I wanted to know the truth.

But what I didn’t want to do was hurt my parents more than they already were, so I kept my mouth shut. I would search for the answer myself.

. . .

I asked the rest of our group if they wanted to come along, but in the end only Chanwoo, Dahyun and Tzuyu made it to the train station. Jiwon couldn’t come because he was only staying in Seoul for a couple of days and he wanted to spend those remaining days with his family; Hanbin, on the other hand, wanted to spend his Christmas with Hayi.

Mother and father took the five-seater car, while the four of us opted for the train instead. The train journey from Seoul to my hometown, Tongyeong, took about five hours, which made it the longest train journey we’d ever been as a group.

The moment we arrived at my old house, something began to tug at my heartstrings. The picture frames that we left, the walnut coffee table, the wall that had the measuring of mine and my brother’s heights when we were growing up.

Our house was exactly how we left it, and that made the nostalgia even worse.

“Our neighbours and friends insisted on cleaning our house every couple of months,” mother explained, smiling. “That’s why there’s hardly any dirt and dust. June, show your friends the room they’ll be staying in. And you,” she said, pointing at my dad. “Get the gas going. I’ll make some food, hm?”

Soon, we headed upstairs where there were four shut doors. The closest one which led to the bathroom, one to my bedroom, one to my parents’, and then the last one which was Jinhwan’s room.

We entered my room first. I brought all of my belongings to Seoul, so it was empty. A bed and two shelves with some old books—that was it. I told Chanwoo that he’d be sharing my room with me, and the girls would have to take Jinhwan’s room, and they said were alright with that. We dropped our bags off and headed over to my brother’s room.

Each step I took was unexpectedly heavy, like something was beginning to weigh me down. And as clear as day, I suddenly remembered all those nights that I would hear my mother cry. I remembered the confusion, the frustration that I felt about the situation when I was fifteen.

My heart began to tremble.

So I took a deep breath, and with cautious steps I carried on walking until we entered the room. When I swayed the door open, I caught the familiar scent of our family’s old fabric conditioner. The smell of it was mixed with something else. I couldn’t quite pinpoint what that something else was, but it was a scent so faint, yet so hard-hitting that it reminded me of the ocean.

It reminded me of him.

And that’s what made me all the more disappointed. As a fifteen year old, I often wondered what would happen if I ever returned home and caught that scent again. I always thought that the memories I had of my brother would all come crashing back to me once I did.

But they didn’t.

“Are you okay, June?” Tzuyu asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said. I looked around the room, and it was exactly how I saw it last. None of his things were moved at all. His clothes, books, computer, posters—they were still there. It was as if a seventeen year old still resided there. “Will you two be okay here? We can swap rooms if you want.”

“We’ll be fine here,” she answered. “The view’s pretty nice, and there’s plenty of space here. Don’t worry.”

“Let’s go,” Chanwoo said to me. “Let’s unpack and leave the girls for a bit.”

. . .

Chanwoo was already fast asleep by the time it reached twelve. I stayed rooted to the bed for a very long time until it occurred to me that sleep wasn’t going to come to me. I grabbed my phone to check the time. It was already 3am, but I decided I wanted to go for a jog outside. So I went downstairs, put on my jacket and jogging shoes, re-filled the water bottle, collected my earphones, and headed out.

Before I even had the chance to put my earphones on, I stopped short when I caught Dahyun sitting on the front porch, reading a book of some sort. She was startled when she saw me.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“Jogging.”

“At this time?”

I simply gave her a nod. “Then how about you? It’s freezing out here.”

“I couldn’t sleep, so I wanted to check out the ocean,” Dahyun said while shutting close the book that she held. The ocean was pitch black, but you could hear the waves crashing and the wind howling around it. “It’s really beautiful here. You’ve got a nice house and the ocean for a backyard. I can see why you were never that fond of Seoul.”

I scoffed. “If it wasn’t for Seoul, I would’ve never met you guys.”

Then she cast her stare at the moon, which looked bigger and brighter now than it had before. It had splashed such intense moonlight onto her eyes, which made them sparkle more than usual, and the coldness of the winter caused her cheeks to go pink. For a second, I thought that she might have been crying.

“Hey, June,” she said, changing the subject so suddenly. Dahyun gazed at me, her eyes more forceful than the moonlight. “I found this book in your brother’s room. A Wrinkle in Time. My mom used to read it to me when I was a child so I wanted to read it again. While reading this book, it suddenly brought back a lot of memories—but June, I think it contains something else, too.”

I merely nodded and prompted her to carry on. But she didn’t say anything more. Dahyun opened the book she was holding and a piece of paper fell out.  

It was a letter.

A letter that finally brought me the truth I was looking for all along.

A letter that hurt so deep that it was really way beyond my tears.

But more than those things, it was a letter that opened up a whole new universe that I’d never seen before.

. . .

You mentioned this before.
‘There comes a time when the world is simply telling you that it doesn't want you anymore. Nothing left to offer—no more purpose.’
Reading that letter, I felt incredibly bitter back then. I was sad that a person like you had to experience those feelings. I felt angry that I couldn’t do anything to make you feel better. But I think I finally understand what you meant when you wrote those words.
So to cut this short:
I feel good tonight, I'm not in any pain and I'm dressed up to look my best. I can’t spend another day at war with myself, so I leave this world of my own accord and not because anyone or anything makes me.
You’ve been a good friend all these years. So thank you.
This will be the last one so I hope it reaches you.
Farewell.

Your friend from Tongyeong,

Jinhwan

. . .

D (half moon) // 

i don't really know where to leave this, so i'll leave it here since some of this chapter was inspired by someone that i knew. 
we weren't the closest, he sits across me in art class, he's part of our friendship group, we held small talks, made jokes, said hello to each other whenever our paths crossed and that was it. but i have one memory of him that will stick with me for a long time, i think. 
it was only three months ago and we were both looking at our futures due to some careers fair. i told him that i had no idea where i was going with life, while he told me exactly what he wanted to do and who he wanted to be. he had everything planned out. he even sounded sure and passionate while talking about his future job, which is why i was shocked me to the core when i heard that he committed suicide. it's already been a week since it happened and his funeral took place yesterday. but whenever i think about it, i always wonder: three months ago, was he actually expecting a future? did he know he was going to have one? or was it all simply a mask?